


broken bones, broken hearts, and a sewing kit

by dogloser



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eye Trauma, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alfyn/Zeph, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Spoilers, Trauma, Work In Progress, and ch 4, if u read this im assuming u already know what goes down in character chapters tbh, more like a gentle simmer until boil, spoilers for therion ch 3, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogloser/pseuds/dogloser
Summary: the river carries sixteen-year-old therion a little farther than the cliftlands. he finds himself in the care of a few country bumpkins. years later, a certain bumpkin is determined to find him again, with the help of a few friends.(or: i wanted more octopath fic & thought, "what if the river carried therion all the way to clearbrook?" voila.)
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass & Zeph, Alfyn Greengrass/Therion, Darius & Therion (Octopath Traveler), Darius/Therion (Octopath Traveler), Eventual Alfyn Greengrass/Therion, Past Therion/Darius (Octopath Traveler)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 122





	1. the river broke my fall (and you broke my heart)

SIX YEARS AGO

“Zeph!” Alfyn motioned for his friend to come down to the water, where bright white lilies were in full bloom. “Look! The water lilies bloomed!”

Zeph scrambled down to his friend, maneuvering awkwardly with his uneven limbs. The boy was in the middle of a growth spurt, and he’d exchanged height for his balance. Skidding to a stop next to his childhood friend, he nearly slipped into the gently flowing river, but he caught himself on the mud in the nick of time.

“Ha! Look ‘er there! Tadpoles!” Zeph exclaimed, immediately rolling up his pant legs. “C’mon, Alf, let’s catch ‘em. It’ll scare the shit outta Nina.”

Alfyn pushed Zeph’s shoulder with his own, even as he mimicked Zeph’s movements. “ _Language_ , man. Your dad wouldn’t be none too happy to hear ya talkin’ like that.”

“Oh, phooey,” the boy grumbled, carefully removing his socks and shoes. “He ain’t here. Don’t be such a worry wart.”

“Well, when ya get in trouble for it, don’t look at me t’ help ya out,” Alfyn responded cheerily. He slipped into the water, careful not to disturb the tadpoles too much. Zeph followed suit, and soon both the fifteen-year-olds were submerged to their knees in clear water for which Clearbrook was named.

“Hey, Zeph,” Alfyn said, staring down into the water like a man on a mission. “Bet I can catch more than you can.”

Zeph cackled. “You wish! You’re gonna eat those words.”

“And you’re gonna eat _dirt_.”

“Oh, it’s on!”

And on it was. The two boys attacked the poor tadpoles, although they were doing little more than getting their outfits soaked and scaring off anything in the river, tadpoles included. It was when Alfyn spotted a fully-grown frog sitting peacefully on the bank that things started to get interesting.

As silent as he could (which was nowhere near silent), Aflyn sneaked up behind the croaking amphibian. Then he lunged—just as the frog jumped away. Aflyn missed, horribly, and slipped on the muddy river water. He careened into the river with a loud splash. Zeph barely lifted his hands to cover his face in time, laughing as hard as he was.

Aflyn sputtered, shoving his head above the water with a gasp, but it was soon interrupted by his own fit of laughter. Fully drenched, now, he opted to just stay in the water.

“Aight, maybe I ain’t as good as I thought I was…” Aflyn chuckled. But Zeph had gone strangely silent, the hearty laughter cut off unnervingly quickly. “Zeph?” Pushing his hair out of his face, Aflyn looked up to his best friend. Zeph’s face was as pale as the white lilies.

“Zeph...?” 

Alfyn followed his friend’s stare just over his shoulder, to the peaceful river. The water rolled gently, pulled along by gravity and current, swirling past Alfyn’s shoulders and Zeph’s knees.

And it was tinted pink.

Pink with _blood_. 

Alfyn’s mouth gaped, and a horrible shiver ran up his spine. Something twisted in his gut; something was wrong. Blood in the water meant nothing good. Even if it was just an animal, the people of Clearbrook knew that their wildlife could carry diseases—and if that got into the water, it’d be polluted for everyone. 

Yet Alfyn had a terrible feeling that this wasn’t just any animal.

And then someone screamed.

The scream clicked something in Alfyn and Zeph, and they both scrambled out of the water, tadpoles and frogs long forgotten. “I’m going to get my dad,” Zeph exhaled. His face was still as white as a water lily, and his lips were quivering. Alfyn didn’t feel much better.

Without another word, both the boys took off, clumsily sprinting with how pressing the situation felt. Alfyn made for where the scream came from, just past the dock, and Zeph burst into his home to alert his father.

What seemed to be the entire town was crowded around _something_ just past the dock, but there were so many people that Alfyn couldn’t tell what it was. He scrambled to a stop just on the outskirts of the little gathering, but as he tried to worm his way closer, the adults pushed him back, saying something about how a child shouldn’t see.

“Shouldn’t see _what?_ ” Alfyn cried, unable to force his way in. “I’m an apothecary-in-trainin’! Lemme help!”

“Alfyn!”

The lad turned to look as his mother, Zeph, and Zeph’s dad came running. Alfyn’s mother immediately wrapped her arms around the sopping boy, pulling him away. The people cleared out as Zeph’s father approached, and Aflyn saw.

Lying there on the muddy ground was a boy. A boy with his arm twisted sickeningly, a boy with watery blood draining into the river, a boy with a dagger sticking out from between his ribs.

A boy who wasn’t breathing.

Zeph’s father obscured the boy from sight, but the image had already seared itself into Alfyn’s brain. His mother grabbed Zeph, pulling him close to her side as her other arm held Alfyn back by the chest. He could feel her body shaking. 

Was it because the boy looked like he was Alfyn’s age?

His mother tugged the two of them away, back to their home, to get cleaned up and to get away from the grizzly scene. Even still, Alfyn couldn’t help but look back.

* * *

Somehow, the boy survived. Alfyn hadn’t had a chance to see him yet, but he was all that occupied the apothecary’s mind. He had so many questions, although he knew it would be rude to ask what happened to get the boy in a situation like that. More than anything, Alfyn wanted to befriend him, or at least help him in some way. He thought it would be terrible to live through that.

“Do you think he’s got a mom?” Alfyn questioned, sitting at the dock with Zeph. Like himself, Zeph was also thinking about the stranger resting in his home. 

“I dunno,” Zeph replied, swinging his legs over the water. “If he does, she must be worried sick.”

“Yeah. Can’t imagine what Ma would do if I just vanished like that.”

“Then don’t ya ever vanish, ya hear?”

“Mhm.”

They lapsed into silence, staring out at the river. The blood had faded quickly after the source had been removed from the water, but it was all too easy to remember what it had looked like. 

“Dad says that dagger was keepin’ ‘im alive,” Zeph said, out of the blue.

Alfyn stared at him. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” Zeph dipped his head in a nod. “He said that the blade was what was keepin’ all the blood inside him. If whoever… whoever did that to him… if they pulled it out, and then he fell into the river, he’da bled out.”

“D’ya think whoever did that to him knew that?” Alfyn asked, before he could stop himself.

It was Zeph’s turn to stare incredulously at his friend. “Whaddya mean by that, Alf?”

“Well…” Alfyn looked back at the water, his toes curling in the stream. “I mean, you think this guy—he’s gonna want revenge, right? And the attack came from in front of him, ‘cause of where the dagger was, and what happened to his eye, so he probably saw the face of the guy who did it to ‘im. So, leavin’ him alive like that… he’s gonna want revenge.”

Zeph chewed quietly on that food for thought. “That ain’t no good,” he settled on eventually, his voice quiet. It still seemed loud with nothing but the river, the crickets, and the bullfrogs keeping them company. The rest of the village was long asleep, except for Zeph’s dad. “Dad’s told me about what revenge does to people. Eats at their mind like a disease.”

Alfyn turned to look at Zeph’s house in the distance, where the lights were still on. He could see the silhouette of Zeph’s father, still working tirelessly, as an apothecary should. “Maybe we can help.”

“We ain’t apothecaries yet, Alf. There ain’t nothin’ we can do for—”

“Naw, not like that, Zeph. Can’t do nothin’ about his eye, or his arm, but… Maybe we can’t help on the outside, but the inside. If he don’t got a home, or family, or friends… Maybe we can be that for him, y’know?”

Alfyn looked up from the water to see a broad smile on his friend’s face. “Aw, Alf,” Zeph beamed, “you’re always so nice. I love that idea. I’m sure m’ dad’ll love it, too.”

“Aw, shucks, Zeph…”

“Don’t ‘shucks’ me!”

“Shucks…”

“Alfyn!”

* * *

The next day, the boy woke up. 

Alfyn and Zeph were both there, keeping an eye on the sleeping figure while Zeph’s dad stepped out to do a quick round of the town and collect some supplies on his way.

Needless to say, neither of the boys were prepared.

It was the first time Alfyn got a good look at the kid, too. He was definitely around Alfyn’s age, and he was covered in mud, dried blood, and bandages. Alfyn couldn’t make out his hair color—it might’ve been white and covered in mud, or it might’ve been brown with cotton stuck in it. There was little hair to be seen, anyway, because the bandage for his eye wrapped around the most of his head. His left arm was in a sling, and his skinny torso was also covered in bandages with healing salve beneath.

And the boy jerked awake in the most ungraceful way possible, but it was completely silent. Had Alfyn not been staring intently, making sure he was still breathing, he would have missed it entirely.

“Whoa!” Alfyn exclaimed, lunging to the boy’s side. The kid’s breathing was already sounding strained, either from panic, pain, or both, and he was forcing himself to half sit-up. “Hey, hey, it’s okay… You’re in Clearbrook. Washed up from the river. Zeph’s dad’s an apothecary, he’s fixin’ you up right as rain. So just… lay down? Please?”

The boy glared at him through gritted teeth, looking between Alfyn and Zeph, who had quickly come to Alfyn’s side. Silence reigned among them for what felt like long, tense minutes. Gears were obviously turning in the boy’s head as to whether to listen or not. Alfyn added another, “C’mon, please lay down? You’re hurt real bad.” With a pained sigh, the boy finally relented, laying back down on the spare bed. 

Alfyn smiled, relieved. “Zeph, go an’ fetch your dad. He’ll wanna know he’s woken up.”

“On it.” Zeph nodded, turned, and ran out the door. Alfyn drew up a stool, sitting by the boy’s beside. 

“I’m Alfyn, by the way,” Alfyn said. The boy didn’t respond, and so the Clearbrook native did what he did best: just kept chattering away. “That was Zeph. He lives here. An’ his dad’s the apothecary. Me an’ Zeph are both fixin’ to be apothecaries, too, so his dad’s trainin’ us, which is why we were here… Um…”

Alfyn eyed the boy quietly for a moment. He didn’t seem to be listening—or, maybe he was half-listening? It was hard to tell.

“Do you have a name?” Alfyn questioned. The boy cocked his head to look at him through one eye.

One eye that was very, _very_ green. It took Alfyn aback, for a second. Blood vessels had broken around the boy’s eye, turning the whites of his eyes red in some parts, and that only accented the green iris. Realizing he was gaping, he quickly shut his mouth to wait for a reply.

None came.

“Ah… Sorry, maybe you don’t have a name! Or maybe you just don’t really want to talk, an’ that’s fine, but it’d really be helpful to have somethin’ t’ call ya.”

All he got in reply was that same green stare.

Alfyn shifted in his seat. Everyone in Clearbrook was so chatty and so friendly that he wasn’t used to absolute silence. But he could still work with it! Maybe the other just couldn’t talk! Or, even if he could, Alfyn was sure he had his reasons for staying quiet. He did just wake up from a near-death experience.

“D’ya mind if I make a name for ya, then?” Alfyn ventured.

The boy grunted, turning his head to stare at the ceiling. Well, that was as close to a yes as he was gonna get.

“I ain’t too good at pickin’ names for things, ‘specially not people, but uh… What about Jack? Derryl?” Those options prompted no reply from the boy, so Alfyn continued. “Pip?” That one at least got a reaction, but it was deadly glare. 

Looking into that eye again, Alfyn was distinctly reminded of an olive.

“Oliver!” He exclaimed, pounding his fist into his open palm. “Because your eyes look like olives! We can call you Ollie!”

The boy—Ollie—snorted. Maybe Alfyn was imagining it, but it looked like the tiniest smile on Ollie’s lips, too, so he counted that as a win. “Well,” Alfyn went on, “it’s nice to meet you, Ollie.”

At that moment, Zeph returned with his father in tow. Alfyn perked up, hopping off the stool and making way for the real apothecary to check on his patient.

“He hasn’t talked at all,” Alfyn reported, fiddling with his thumbs. “So I thought we’d call him Ollie. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

Zeph’s dad gave Alfyn a smile. “You did great, Alf. Thanks for staying put and keeping Ollie company. I’ll take it from here.”

Alfyn and Zeph exchanged glances, looked to Ollie, and relented silently. As much as they wanted to learn, there was a difference between grinding herbs for a persistent cough and a kid who’d nearly been murdered.

Quietly, they left, listening to Zeph’s dad’s soothing, quiet words, and Ollie’s unnerving silence.

* * *

They never did find out what happened to Ollie (although Alfyn did find out that Ollie’s hair was white and muddy, not brown and cottony). It’d been a week, and he still hadn’t spoken a single word to any of them. The most they got from him were grunts or glares. Honestly, Alfyn was worried. Who just didn’t talk?

Zeph’s father had pulled them aside that night that Ollie first woke up. In a hushed voice, he told them that Ollie had something called “traumatic mutism,” meaning that, because Ollie had gone through something traumatic, he wasn’t speaking. In time, Ollie might start to speak again, or he may never say anything else.

Alfyn and Zeph had looked at each other and shrugged. “We’ll just find out another way to talk to him, then!” They’d said. 

And they kept true to their word. With Ollie bedridden, they spent hours and hours inside Zeph’s home, either helping to make salves for the boy or to keep him entertained. And with all that time at their disposal, eventually they’d figured out a rough, homemade sign language for just the three of them. A lot of it was only one-handed, as Ollie’s arm was broken and the Clearbrook boys usually had herbs in one of their hands.

After the first week, Ollie was walking around. Not much, and Alfyn, Zeph, or Zeph’s dad were always right by him, but it was better than him being in bed all the time. It looked like it hurt the boy to move a lot, and Alfyn thought that was fair. The boy’s chest was still covered in bandages, and so was his eye. Alfyn was too scared to ask if he’d ever be able to see out of it again. So instead, he teased Ollie about how short he was. For what it was worth, Ollie only looked like he wanted to kill him a little bit.

The second week, Ollie could get around more on his own. Alfyn and Zeph took him outside, just around the house. Ollie still didn’t say anything, but he indicated that he liked being able to get around on his own.

By the third week, Ollie didn’t need bandages around his ribs anymore. Alfyn was there when Zeph’s dad took them off, and he saw the scarring that the dagger left. No one asked Ollie what happened to land him in a river half-dead, and Ollie wouldn’t have said anything anyway. 

Once, when Alfyn had fallen asleep at Zeph’s house studying their books that week, he woke up in the middle of the night to see Ollie sitting up in bed. The moonlight illuminated his white hair and the metal in his hands. It was the same dagger that was buried in between his ribs, and Ollie was twirling it between his fingers, handling it as smoothly as Zeph’s dad handled healing salves. 

Alfyn didn’t say anything. He turned his head over and pretended to fall asleep again. He wouldn’t mention that Ollie had stolen back the dagger, or that he saw tears dripping from the boy’s chin. After all, he was sure Ollie had seen the way that he looked at Zeph, and Ollie didn’t say anything. It was only fair.

The fourth week the sling on Ollie’s arm came off, with very strict instructions from Zeph’s father to be careful, as that arm was still healing. Apparently Ollie was incredibly lucky and the fracture could have been much, much worse. All of them thought that Ollie was lucky to just be alive—except for maybe Ollie himself.

It was just over a month since Ollie had fallen into their care. He, Zeph, and Alfyn were outside by the river and the water lilies.

“Look, Ollie!” Alfyn exclaimed, snatching up a lily. “I told ya, they’re as white as your hair!”

Ollie scrunched his nose and took the lily from Alfyn’s hands, inspecting it. Then he snorted and handed the flower back, while his other hand bent two fingers at them, then three. _Yeah, whatever_ , Ollie said. It was probably the boy’s favorite sign.

“Alf, leave ‘im alone,” Zeph griped. “You’re always teasin’ ‘im. Ain’t his fault he got grandma hair.”

Ollie promptly flipped Zeph off.

They learned that quickly, too, that the boy had a vulgar vocabulary—or he would if he spoke, anyway. Alfyn and Zeph could never get away with being so crude; their mother and father, respectively, would have never allowed it, but if Ollie had parents, they weren’t here. Zeph’s father had only asked Ollie not to do so around young, impressionable Nina, and Ollie complied.

When it was just the three of them, though, Ollie was able to sign whatever he so pleased.

“Aw, shucks, Ollie, you’re so mean,” Alfyn laughed. “Ain’t gotta be doin’ that to Zeph.”

Zeph chimed in with a smirk. “I think it’s just how he shows his affection,” he cooed. “Idn’t that right, Ol?”

Ollie immediately signed that he was leaving and never coming back. The Clearbrook boys erupted with laughter.

They entertained themselves until the sun set and after. Somehow they found themselves on the roof of Alfyn’s house, looking up at the stars.

“I can never get tired of seein’ them,” Alfyn remarked.

“Yeah,” Zeph agreed with a sigh.

It was harder to see Ollie’s signing at night, but the moon was fairly full. Alfyn could make out Ollie saying that the stars looked better in the Cliftlands.

“Do they?” Alfyn asked. He looked back up at the stars and hummed. “I guess that makes sense. There aren’t any trees up there, right? And you’re higher up. I guess you’d be able to see a lot more of ‘em, then.”

Ollie agreed with a hum. Then their conversation fell into silence, interrupted only by Zeph’s occasional yawns, although they were growing in frequency.

A chatterbox as usual, Alfyn found something to say. “Ollie,” he started, “do you miss the Cliftlands?”

Ollie gave him a puzzled look and signed, _Why?_

“Well, ya live there, don’t ya? It’s your home.”

Ollie snorted and shook his head. _No, it’s not_.

Alfyn sat up at that, and Zeph did, too. The Clearbrook boys looked at each other before turning their gazes to Ollie. Ollie couldn’t help but feel a lot like he was cornered, and he sat up, suddenly apprehensive.

 _What?_ He signed.

Alfyn blurted, “This can be your home!”

When Ollie didn’t say anything, the blond continued anxiously. “I mean, I just been thinkin’, if you ain’t got a home, you could stay here with us. Clearbrook could be your home, yanno? Ya already live with Zeph an’ his dad, and Nina, and I know they don’t have much room, so I’m sure you could stay with me an’ Ma, or somewhere else here. But I… if you ain’t got nowhere to go back to, then I just think that you should stay.”

Zeph chimed in. “Yeah! You’re our friend, man, and we don’t want to see you go. We could figure somethin’ out, or the adults could. But you just ain’t gotta go off on your own. It’s dangerous out there, especially for a kid.”

That got a reaction. _I’m not a kid_ , Ollie signed. 

“Well?” Alfyn pressed. “You wanna stay?”

“Alf,” Zeph interrupted, “he can’t decide in two seconds. Give ‘im a little while to think about it.”

“It’s not deciding in _two seconds_ ,” Alfyn protested. “He’s been here for a month!”

“You’re askin’ him to stay for forever!”

“Not _forever_ , just til he’s older.”

“That’s still a long time.”

Ollie interrupted their bickering by clearing his throat, loudly. Both boys turned their eyes to him expectantly. _Give me tonight to think_ , he signed. _I’ll tell you tomorrow_.

Alfyn and Zeph cheered, but their celebration that Ollie would at least think on it was cut short when Alfyn’s mom hollered for the boy to quiet down.

“I should get goin’,” he said sheepishly, already beginning to climb down. Zeph and Ollie were quick behind.

Somehow, despite being the last one to start climbing down, Ollie was always the first on the ground. The boy was nimble in the same way that Zeph was lanky and Alfyn was broad-shouldered. Even with having an arm that wasn’t fully healed from its fracture, Ollie was the quickest out of all of them.

“Alright, well, we’ll see ya tomorraw, Alf,” Zeph said. He waved a goodbye and headed off towards his house. Ollie was only a step behind, but he paused when Alfyn called to him.

“Um, Ollie.”

Ollie turned, staring expectantly.

“I just… wanted ya to know,” Alfyn said, “I was serious. About you stayin’ here and all. I really like havin’ ya around, an’ I know Zeph an’ Nina do too. So I’m really hopin’ ya stay, not just until you’re all better, but til you’re grown. ‘Cause I… I ain’t told no one yet, so please don’t tell Zeph or Ma, but I really wanna travel the world one day, I think, as an apothecary. And… and you could come with, if you wanted to.”

Suddenly realizing how long he had been talking, Alfyn blushed fiercely. “S-sorry! Ain’t meant to keep ya so long. But, um, I know you’ll think on it, so… so goodnight, Ollie!”

As expected, Ollie didn’t say anything. But he signed a goodnight before turning and following Zeph’s trail. Alfyn hurried into his house to get an earful of his Ma’s telling him to be quieter at night and be considerate of all the older folks sleeping. He apologized and promised he would never do it again, never ever, and then she sent him off to bed.

Alfyn awoke that morning from Zeph pounding on his window.

Groggily, he threw the covers off and moved to the window, yanking the creaky old thing upwards. “Zeph?” He asked. “What’re ya—”

“He’s gone,” Zeph said, hanging halfway through the window. “Ollie’s gone.”

Alfyn’s heart plummeted.

“ _Gone?_ ” 

“Yeah, all his stuff’s gone an’ so is he.”

“He didn’t leave a note or nothin’?”

Zeph shook his head. “No. Like he wasn’t even here to start with.”

Alfyn clenched his hands into fists. He could feel his face flush and his eyes start to burn with unshed tears. “ _Damn it_ ,” he yelled. “Damn it, damn it, _damn it!!_ ”

“Alfyn Greengrass!” His mom opened the door and poked her head in. “What in the hells got you cussin’ up a storm?”

Alfyn turned to her, tears dripping down his chin. “He’s gone, Ma,” he said. “Ollie’s gone. He up ‘n’ left. Ain’t even said goodbye.”

His mom’s complexion instantly softened. “Oh, honey,” she cooed. Rushing forward, she enveloped Alfyn in a warm hug, although one arm opened to Zeph, whose eyes were also watering. “Get in here, boy,” she encouraged gently.

Zeph climbed in through the window the rest of the way, and Alfyn’s mother hugged the both of them.

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” she said softly. “Just because he’s gone now doesn’t mean he’ll be gone forever. There’s a big wide world out there, but there’s only so much of it. Your ma’s got a feelin’ that Ollie just wasn’t ready to be part of a family yet.”

Alfyn rubbed his eyes dry. “Ya think we’ll ever see ‘im again?”

His ma smiled and patted his head. “A’course, Alf,” she said. “That boy needs a family sometime. And when he’s ready, we’ll be right here waitin’ for him.”

“Yeah,” Alfyn agreed. The crying falter in his voice was replaced with sturdy determination. “We’ll be right here.”

TODAY

Six years later, when Alfyn was freshly twenty-one, he knelt in front of her grave. He brushed over her name, feeling a heavy ache in his heart.

“Well, Ma, our family keeps gettin’ littler and littler,” he said softly. “Zeph an’ Nina are still here, but I’m gonna travel the world and help everyone I can.” Alfyn took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Ain’t much left for Ollie to return to. Do ya think he still thinks about us?”

Alfyn raised his eyes to the sky, watching as the sun rose over the horizon. It was the dawn of a new day, and the dawn of a new time in his life. Still, he couldn’t help but to be nostalgic.

“Alfyn,” called a familiar voice. The blond stood and turned, watching as Zeph came to stand beside him. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“I was just sayin’ goodbye,” he said. “And thinkin’.”

“Don’t do too much a that, or ya ain’t gonna have anythin’ left for makin’ your tonics.”

“Aw, shucks, Zeph…”

“Don’t shucks me!”

“Shucks, I don’t know what else to say.”

Zeph clapped Alfyn on the shoulder. “Seriously, we’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of everyone here, you have my word.”

Alfyn took a deep breath in. “That’s… not what I’m worried about,” he admitted. “I can’t help but think of Ollie.”

“Ollie?” Zeph cocked his head.

“You remember him, don’tcha?”

“‘Course I remember Ollie. But what’re you thinkin’ about him for?”

“Well…” Alfyn readjusted his satchel. “He was supposed to have a family to come back to. But now, it’s a lot smaller than it was.”

“If he comes back, me an’ Nina’ll be family enough.” Zeph chuckled. “She’s enough of a handful to make up for you.”

Alfyn turned his head to look at his friend. “Will ya write me, if he comes back?” He asked hopefully. “I know it’s been six years, and we still ain’t seen him, but—”

“Alf,” Zeph interrupted, “you’re talkin’ as if ya ain’t gonna meet him first.”

That caught Alfyn off guard. “Huh?”

“Think about it, Alf.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to think too hard.”

Zeph scoffed and lightly shoved the other with his shoulder. “Listen,” he said, “you’re gonna be traveling the world. It’s only so big. I think your chances of seein’ him again are better with you out there than stayin’ here in little ole Clearbrook.”

Alfyn sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Ya think so?”

“Know so.” Zeph gave Alfyn a hard pat on the back. “Now hurry up. It ain’t polite to be keepin’ your friends waitin’.”

“Oh, shucks.” Alfyn flushed and readjusted his satchel. “Uh, ‘fore I go, I was thinkin’...” He pulled off the satchel and handed it to Zeph. “I wanted you to hold onto this for me, yeah?”

Zeph was taken aback, but his surprise quickly turned into a grin. “Y’know, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” he said, handing over his own satchel and taking Alfyn’s. “You return that in one piece, ya hear?”

“Yeah,” Alfyn agreed. “Yeah, of course.”

From the distance, they both heard a shout: “ _AAAlfyn!_ Hurry up!”

“Shucks. I really gotta go.” Alfyn half-turned to leave.

Zeph took a deep breath. “You be safe.”

Alfyn swallowed, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. “You too.”

They stared at each other before launching into a fierce hug. It seemed to last forever and yet not nearly long enough before they began to pull away.

“I’ll see ya around,” Alfyn said, before turning on his heel and running down the stairs. Zeph watched him go, with a smile and blinking back tears.

At the base of the hill, Alfyn joined up with the other two travelers. “Sorry to keep ya waitin’,” he said. “I was sayin’ goodbye.”

“Well, it’s about time! We’re losing daylight!” Tressa exclaimed.

“I have to agree with Tressa.” Cyrus nodded. “I’d hate to be stuck in the Cliftland during the hottest part of the day. I’m hopeful that we can make Bolderfall before then, if we don’t stop for lunch.”

“That’s assuming no monsters attack us, either,” the merchant added unhelpfully.

“Alright, we’d best get goin’!” Alfyn said. Their little gang of three toed the line of Clearbrook and the wilderness. Alfyn said goodbye to the only home he’d ever known and set out to face a brand new adventure.

“To Bolderfall!”

An adventure in which he hoped he would find Ollie once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all enjoy. this fic will probably update randomly, but please comment to let me know how you like it and if you'd like me to focus more attention on it.


	2. the apple thief, the snow leopard, and the huntress

The trio learned quickly that the Cliftlands was not their cup of tea. Dusty, windy, terribly hot during the day and freezing at night, the Cliftlands seemed to be the polar opposite of the humid, temperate Riverlands from where they just came. Alfyn was certainly out of his depth, and by the look of it, his new friends Cyrus and Tressa were too.

“Gosh,” Tressa exclaimed, holding her hat down on her head, “it’s really windy up here! I almost lost my hat!”

Cyrus’s coat flapped behind him, the fabric sharply whipping in the fierce wind. “It is,” he agreed. He needed to raise his voice to be heard above the wind. “Bolderfall shouldn’t be far from here. We’ll be able to find shelter there.”

Alfyn’s satchel was positioned behind him, his body shielding his supplies from the brunt of the wind. His and Tressa’s hair was being blown all around, making it harder to see. “Crimedy, I ain’t never had wind like this down in Clearbrook!” He shouted. “What gives?”

“Well, we are much higher up,” Cyrus told him. “The Riverlands are protected from the winds by the height of these mountains, but we have little to nothing to shield us up here.”

The dust that the wind kicked up limited visibility even moreso. The group couldn’t see the sign pointed towards Bolderfall until it was a handful of feet in front of them. The wooden pole was sunk deep into the ground, and even still looked to be struggling against the powerful winds.

“We’re close,” Alfyn said. His eyes followed to where the sign pointed towards Bolderfall. “It looks like we just have to cross— oh.”

The rickety wooden bridge that lay before him looked like a death trap. It rocked terribly in the wind, and with one powerful gust, it was almost completely sideways.

Alfyn turned to look at Tressa and Cyrus, who were just as shocked as he was. “What do we do?” He asked.

Cyrus tightened his cloak around himself. “It appears much too dangerous to cross,” he said, peering towards the gaping ledge. “I wouldn’t like to risk falling. I don’t think we would survive.”

Alfyn inched closer to the edge just for the chance to look down. He clung onto the wooden poles that kept the bridge dug into the ground while he leaned as far out as he dared to see past the bridge and the drop of the cliff. Below what seemed like a thousand feet of open air, a river cut through the gouges of the canyon, rolling lazy on towards Clearbrook. 

“Be careful, Alfyn,” Tressa warned. 

“We can’t stay out here forever,” Alfyn reasoned, looking back to his friends. “There’s nowhere to stay.”

Another fierce gust of wind drowned out Cyrus’s shout. Alfyn gripped tightly to the wooden poles of the bridge, watching it quake and tremble against the wind just a foot or two in front of him. “Crossing right now is near impossible!” Cyrus yelled over the wind, reaching over to steady Tressa, who was being blown around. “Wait for the wind to die down, at least.”

Alfyn shifted, looking back out towards the bridge. It was no longer sideways, although the way it rocked was still quite intimidating. He had expected the dangers outside of his little hometown to be in the form of monsters, not the elements.

Ultimately, the group retreated from the bridge. They’d found a shallow outcropping to wait out the worst of it. It didn’t block the wind completely, and the roaring sound was somehow even louder here, but they weren’t being shoved around anymore.

Sitting on the ground and waiting for the time to pass, Alfyn determined to find something to talk about. “Cyrus,” he said, “do ya think that someone could survive a fall from one a these cliffs?”

Cyrus hummed, thinking about the question. “Possibly,” he replied, “although I find the chances highly unlikely. You would have to be incredibly lucky.”

Although Alfyn already knew it was possible to survive, he never was able to wrap his head around the statistics. It seemed Cyrus would be able to lay it out for him. “How so?” The apothecary prompted.

“Well, there are chances to hit your head on rocks during the fall,” Cyrus explained. “Should you manage to avoid all those, then the impact of the water is just as dangerous. While it’s not necessarily deadly, the force of it could break a number of bones in your body, leaving drowning as just a dangerous possibility. I’m also unaware of how strong the current is, and that would play a factor in it as well. Why do you ask?”

Alfyn fiddled with the buckle of his satchel. “I ain’t told y’all about Ollie yet, have I?”

“Ollie?” Tressa asked. “No, who’s that?”

“Well,” Alyn took a deep breath, settling back against the stone wall for his story, “back a few years ago—I was fifteen, I think—I was playin’ in the river with my pal Zeph when we saw some blood in the water. An’ we heard someone yellin’ up the river some. Zeph’s dad was an apothecary too, ya know, so we fetched him and checked it out. It was a kid, looked like our age, who’d washed up in Clearbrook from the river.”

“A child?” Cyrus repeated, incredulous.

Alfyn nodded. “Teenager, yeah. He was mighty busted up.”

Tressa’s expression was one of surprise and intense worry. The girl leaned forward, her eyes wide.“Did he survive?” She asked.

“Yeah, barely.” Alfyn chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “Zeph’s dad said it was a miracle.”

Cyrus tsked, just as amazed as his traveling partners that someone could survive something so horrible. “I take it he didn’t tell you what happened,” he observed.

Alfyn shook his head. “Nah, he didn’t talk at all. Zeph’s dad said it was somethin’ like traumatic mutism, means he wouldn’t talk ‘cause he went through somethin’ awful.”

Tressa shuddered. Her eyes flicked past the two men, looking out at the drop of the cliffs. “You think he fell?”

Alfyn pursed his lips. “Honestly? Think he was pushed.”

She gasped, and her eyes snapped back to Aflyn. “ _ Pushed? _ ”

“What on earth gives you that idea?” Asked Cyrus incredulously.

Alfyn motioned to his ribcage. “He had a dagger stuck, right here,” he said. “An’ his eye was all slashed up, too. ‘Course, he coulda fallen on it or somethin’, but I don’t think it was any accident.”

Tressa rubbed her arms, unnerved by the idea. She knew there was cruelty in the world. Plenty of merchants around Rippletide had been attacked by bandits and left for dead, but to do something so cruel to a boy who had been only a couple years younger than her… She didn’t like to think about it.

“You said he wouldn’t talk?” She asked. “How’d you know his name?”

“Oh, that.” Alfyn laughed, and the mood lightened just a little. “Well, I actually started guessin’ names for ‘im. Got through a few that he didn’t seem to like none, but then I noticed that his eyes were real green. Made me think of some of the olives that ol’ Ricken grows, so I thought we could call ‘im Oliver, an’ he didn’t look like he hated it.”

“Oliver,” Cyrus mused. “I haven’t met anyone by that name, I’m afraid.”

“I doubt it’s his real name,” Alfyn said. “But he never did end up talkin’ to us.”

“What happened to him?” The merchant questioned. The scholar looked just as interested in this boy who fell from the sky and washed up on shore. “He didn’t stay?”

Alfyn sighed. “Naw, he took off after a month or so. Didn’t even say goodbye. One night he was there, an’ the next mornin’, he was gone.” He paused. Ollie’s abrupt leaving still stung, deep in his heart, but after a mere moment determination overtook him. The fire returned to his eyes. “So I’m hopin’ that I’ll find ‘im again, somewhere out here.”

Cyrus took a deep breath and reclined against the rock wall. “I certainly wish you the best of luck, Alfyn,” he said. “It sounds like Oliver was a good friend of yours.”

He let it out like a sigh. “Yeah, he was.” 

Silence reigned for a few somber moments, but Alfyn quickly changed the conversation to something more lighthearted. Cyrus had the opportunity to tell them all about Flatlands geology, and Tressa told them about a man named Captain Leon.

By the time the wind died down, the sun was beginning to set. None of them were too interested in spending the night outside, so they took to the road again, crossing the bridge safely. Finally, they arrived in Bolderfall.

Firstly, they found the inn to reserve two rooms for the night, and then they found their way to the tavern.

The change was immediate, and almost horrifying.

Bolderfall, for all its appearances, seemed to have a literal, physical hierarchy of power and riches. The inn was located in the middle, where the homes and the people seemed to be decently off. They’d heard rumors that the upper level was home to an incredible manor and the wealthy. The lower level, though, Alfyn had never seen anything like it. 

The homes were built haphazardly into the side of the cliffs, and Alfyn was loath to imagine what it’d be like inside one of them during such brutal winds as they experienced earlier. Very few people were out and about, and the ones that were didn’t look friendly. Even for such an outgoing guy as Aflyn Greengrass, he had the inkling that it was better to leave these folks alone.

The tavern was at least well-lit and served up a lovely porridge to combat the chill of the night. The three of them took their seats, Alfyn with a cup of ale, and Cyrus and Tressa with water.

Although they had their own conversation going on, it was almost impossible not to overhear what some of the other customers were discussing.

“Ya heard someone actually got into the Ravus Manor?” One man said, in a very loud attempt at a hushed voice. “I can’t believe my ears.”

“Yer kiddin’ me,” said the other. “That deathtrap?”

“Aye. Must’ve been that master thief everyone’s been talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Ya think he got the treasure?”

The first male shrugged. “I ain’t know. It’s been quiet.”

“Quiet ain’t always good,” the second commented. “The bastard probably got thrown in gaol.”

“Aye. Them Ravuses woulda put out a reward for his capture if he’d done away with it.”

The customer snickered. “Bloke deserves it for tryin’ the impossible.”

Cyrus’s sigh brought Alfyn’s attention back to their own table. “I’ve never understood the world of thieves,” he admitted. “From what I take it, they love to take risks, even at the price of their own life.”

“Rotten thieves,” Tressa grumbled. “I can’t stand them.”

“Shucks,” Alfyn chuckled. “I sure don’t support ‘em, but sometimes I think they don’t got nothin’ better. If it meant puttin’ food on the table for my ma, I mighta done the same.”

Tressa frowned, looking torn between her love for her family and hatred for thieves. “There’s got to be other options,” she protested.

Cyrus shook his head. “Not always, my dear girl. Life can be cruel and unforgiving. Unfortunately, it seems to be that the cruelty of life breeds cruelty in man, and the cycle repeats itself.”

Tressa had nothing to say to that. Cyrus’s words were food for thought, and all three of the travelers percolated on it while they ate their dinner. The night grew late, and soon enough, they retreated to the inn again.

Tressa had her own room, and Alfyn and Cyrus shared one. All of them, exhausted from their journey, fell asleep quickly and soundly.

The next morning, Alfyn awoke to find Cyrus already awake, writing in a small booklet he had. “Good mornin’,” the apothecary yawned, sitting up and stretching.

“Oh, good morning, Aflyn,” the scholar remarked. “I take it you slept well?”

“Like a rock. What’re you workin’ on?”

“Oh, this?” Cyrus motioned to the booklet. “I’ve decided to keep records of my travels. I’m simply catching up on our recent adventures.”

Alfyn slid out of bed and stretched once more. “Before we head out, I’m gonna stop by the market,” he said. “Gonna look for some herbs.”

“Very well, then.” Cyrus nodded and snapped his booklet shut. He slipped it into an inside pocket of his overcoat as he stood. “I was merely waiting for Tressa to dress, and then we meant to head to the tavern for breakfast. Shall we wait for you?”

Alfyn waved him off. “Naw, you guys go on ahead. I’ll meet ya there.”

“Splendid. Take care.”

With that, Cyrus was off. A few minutes later, Alfyn was dressed with his satchel and headed to the marketplace to look for herbs.

The selection wasn’t vast, which he expected, but he was more than happy to get his hands on noxroot and essence of pomegranate. He also spied what looked to be deliciously ripe red apples, and he thought that Tressa and Cyrus might appreciate them for a snack while they trekked to Quarrycrest. 

“Be careful out there,” the shop owner told him as he paid for his groceries. “Plenty of thieves ‘round these parts. One in particular keeps stealin’ my apples.”

“Your apples?” Alfyn asked. “Shucks, I’m sorry.”

The owner waved his hand dismissively. “We’re used to it,” he responded. “Bolderfall’s where plenty of thieves get their start. Most of ‘em I can shoo off one way or another.”

“Really?” Alfyn tucked the herbs and apples away into the satchel and buckled it shut.

“Aye.” The owner nodded. “Most of ‘em move on, some of ‘em stay, a few come back. But I ain’t forget the apple thief.”

Alfyn chuckled, surprised. “He only steals your apples?”

The owner nodded. “Started comin’ round long time ago, but he disappears e’ry now and then. Came back just last week. My guess is he heard the rumors ‘bout the Ravus Manor and got curious. I haven’t been able to catch ‘im yet, but my apples have also stopped disappearin’, so I’m guessin’ he skipped town already.”

_ Or got thrown in gaol, _ Alfyn thought. He dipped his head respectively to the owner. “Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye on these apples here,” he said. “Thank ya, and take care.”

“You too, kid.”

As Alfyn made his way through Bolderfall, back down to the tavern, he couldn’t help but think of this mysterious apple thief. He wondered if it was the same person that the two men were talking about in the tavern the night before, and that prompted him to wonder if he’d gotten away with the Ravus treasure or been captured.

The doorbell jingled when Alfyn pushed open the tavern door, alerting Cyrus and Tressa to his presence. They waved him over, and he sat down at their table. To his pleasant surprise, breakfast was already waiting for him.

“Shucks, thanks,” he said appreciatively. His stomach was already rumbling.

“No problem!” Tressa smiled. “You’re gonna need your energy, and we didn’t want to wait longer than we had to before we hit the road again.”

“It smells great.”

“Yes, quite,” Cyrus agreed. “I do believe they also have apple pie, if you’d like that as well.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Alfyn turned to his satchel, beginning to unclasp the buckle. “I found a good few herbs at the marketplace, but there were also a couple apples there, an’ I thought they’d make for good snacks for when we… Huh.”

Tressa leaned over, curious. “What is it?”

Alfyn furrowed his brow. He lifted his satchel from where it hung on the chair, setting it instead in his lap. The apothecary dug through the bag, but for as scattered as his thoughts could be, his bag was neat and organized. He knew where, exactly, everything was supposed to be.

“The apples,” Alfyn said, dumbfounded. “They’re not here.”

“ _ Huh? _ ” Tressa leaned even further over, threatening to tip her chair. “Let me see.”

Alfyn complied, handing the satchel over. Tressa set it on the table, and Cyrus pulled their plates away to make room. Just as Aflyn said, there were no apples to be found in the bag.

“My, Aflyn,” Cyrus said, peering into the satchel, “it appears you’ve been robbed.”

Alfyn laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, would you look at that. And the shopkeeper was just tellin’ me about an apple thief around here.”

“Those no good thieves!” The merchant shouted, shaking her fist. “That thief better hope he doesn’t run into us again, or I’ll pound him!”

“Now, now, my dear, apples can be replaced—” Cyrus, though his amused, muffled laughter, attempted to calm the fiery young girl before she made too much of a scene.

Alfyn was still left reeling. “Shucks, I can’t even remember when it coulda happened. I came straight here.”

As Tressa returned the satchel to Alfyn, Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, putting his friends’ plates back in their original positions. “Perhaps the rumored master thief isn’t in gaol after all.”

“Maybe.” Alfyn sighed, setting his satchel down by his feet. “Guess I’m lucky he was only after my apples.”

“Alfyn!” Tressa protested. “How are you okay with being  _ stolen _ from?”

The apothecary only shrugged, beginning to dig into his breakfast. “Well, we were talkin’ ‘bout it last night, weren’t we? Maybe he couldn’t afford t’ eat. I can, so I don’t mind ‘im takin’ my apples none.”

Tressa shoved her head in her hands and muffled a loud groan of disbelief. Cyrus, meanwhile, was left laughing goodnaturedly. “I hope you are right, Alfyn,” the scholar said, “that the apples are being put to good use.”

Later, when the trio was finally departing from Bolderfall (with a few more apples to their name), Alfyn suddenly stopped and almost tipped over from laughing so hard.

Cyrus and Tressa were out of the loop until Alfyn pointed to something on the side of the dusty road. Then, even Tressa couldn’t help but laugh a little bit.

Discarded right outside the entrance to Bolderfall was a fresh apple core.

The mystery thief gave them plenty to talk about as they traveled to Quarrycrest, where Cyrus was to meet with a friend of his. It was even higher up than Bolderfall, but the mining town seemed to be a lot better off. There, Tressa found a new friend and rival, and Cyrus uncovered something sinister.

What happened in the hidden tunnels of Quarrycrest wasn’t something any of them wanted to talk about. Just being in the same town as such a violent tragedy made all of them uneasy, and so they left as quickly as they could. 

Out on the road again, they determined that they would stop in Bolderfall for the night and then continue on to S’warkii. There, they would take the northern pass until they arrived at Stonegard, and from there they would continue east until they reached the Coastlands.

Where the dusty mountain trails of the Cliftlands steeped downwards and bled into the thick forestry of the Woodlands, they found another apple core.

“Well, it seems that we are bound for a similar destination as our apple thief,” Cyrus remarked, “unless another traveler just so happens to be discarding apple cores.”

“Oo, he better hope I don’t get my hands on him!” Tressa shouted. She punched the air, hitting a few branches of low-hanging trees as they walked. “I’ll pummel him!”

Alfyn laughed, setting his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “How about we try not runnin’ into ‘im?” He suggested, dodging under a branch. “I don’t got anymore apples to feed ‘im with.”

Tressa heaved a sigh, defeated. “He needs to buy his own apples,” she grumbled. Her foot connected with a little rock, sending it skittering ahead. Cyrus’s eyes followed its trail.

“Oh my,” Cyrus murmured, catching the attention of the other two. The travelers turned their eyes in front of them once again. The forest and shrubbery had grown thick and untamed, even more so the closer they grew to S’warkii, but there was still something of a trail. That, however, wasn’t what caught their eye.

It was a giant snow leopard.

Tressa screamed. “What  _ is that?! _ ”

“It appears to be a snow leopard,” Cyrus told her uneasily. “I haven’t seen one before. They’re native to the Frostlands.”

The snow leopard, at least, didn’t seem to be thinking of them as prey. It watched them with big, dark eyes, as if studying them. All three of the travelers held their breath, and the beast took a curious step towards them.

“What do we do?” Tressa whispered. “Do we run?”

“Only prey runs,” Cyrus whispered back. “If we stay still, it should—”

“Linde!” Called a new voice. “Linde, where hast thou gone?”

Rustling in the underbrush drew the group’s attention. A woman dressed in furs pushed branches out of the way and stepped over gnarled roots as if she had the forest memorized. “Linde, there art thou. Hast thou found the— Oh.”

The woman spotted the trio and paused. “Hello,” she greeted. Her eyes flicked from them to the snow leopard, and with a click of her tongue, the pure beast returned to her side. “Fearest not Linde. She shant harm thee, lest thou intendest harm to us.”

Tressa let out an audible sigh of relief. “I thought we were cat food!”

Cyrus and Alfyn, too, laughed nervously. “Golly,” Alfyn began, “that’s one mighty kitty ya got here.”

“Aye,” the woman agreed, although her eyebrow raised when her leopard was called a ‘kitty’. “Her name is Linde. I am H’aanit.”

Alfyn confidently walked forward and extended his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet ya, H’aanit! I’m Alfyn, and this here is Cyrus an’ Tressa.”

Tressa seemed a little more nervous to approach the feline, but Cyrus approached as soon as she saw that Alfyn was not attacked. “This is an incredible leopard,” he commented. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thankest thou. Thou mayest petten her, if thou wishest.”

That caught Tressa’s attention, and she hurried forward, crouching in front of the feline. “Wow, she’s so pretty,” she breathed, reaching out a hand. Linde sniffed her and then mrrowed, pushing her head into Tressa’s hand. The merchant squealed and happily began petting the cat.

“You must be from S’warkii, if I recognize your dialect correctly,” Cyrus observed.

H’aanit nodded. “Aye, S’warkii is my home. Art thou headest there?”

“You bet!” Alfyn answered. “Just stoppin’ there on our way through.”

The huntress sighed and looked around the forest. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t seem to be able to find. “Very well. I shall accompany thou there,” she decided. “The forest canst be dangerous, more so if thou knowest not where thou tread.”

Reluctantly, Tressa pulled back from petting the snow leopard. H’aanit turned and began to lead the way, with the other three following closely behind.

“Excuse me, H’aanit.” Cyrus quickened his pace to fall into step beside her. “Were you, perchance, looking for someone? Or something? I recall that you had asked Linde if she had found something.”

“Oh, that.” H’aanit nodded, ducking underneath the branch of a tree. “Aye. I believen that a thief hast passed through the Woodlands. Linde and I attempted to trackest him, but his scent has been lost.”

“A thief!” Tressa exclaimed. The fire lit anew in her eyes, and she punched the air. “If it’s that  _ same thief _ that stole from Alfyn—”

“Thou hast been robbed as well?” H’aanit looked surprised, turning her head back to Aflyn. “What didst he steal?”

“Only apples,” came the cheery reply. “I hope he didn’t cause ya too much trouble.”

The huntress raised her eyebrow. “Doest thou knowest this man?”

“Oh, no, not really.” Alfyn flustered, rubbing at the back of his head. “Just heard about him some back in Bolderfall, that’s all.”

“Yeah, he’s a rotten no good thief!” Tressa cried. “He stole from a mansion, and he stole Alfyn’s food!”

“I believen he hast made an appearance in S’warkii as well. One of the blacksmith’s finer daggers has gone missing, as has a fur cloak.”

“A fur cloak?” Cyrus hummed, rubbing at his chin. “I would wager a guess that our thieving friend is headed towards the Frostlands.”

“Mine guess is the same,” H’aanit agreed. “Should I not find him in the Woodlands, I hast planen to continue my journey east. I may findest him, should our paths be the same.”

“You should join with us!” Tressa said, a mere seconds before Alfyn would have proposed the same idea. 

Since he wasn’t the first to say it, he was the first to support it. “Yeah, Tressa’s right!” He said. “We’re headin’ to Stonegard.”

“Stonegard, thou sayest?” H’aanit stepped over a root, which Cyrus proceeded to stumble over. “That is mine destination as well. Since our paths art the same, I shall accompany thou.”

“Well, the more the merrier,” Cyrus said with a smile, regaining his balance and brushing off his cloak. “I would be most grateful to have a fourth in our party.”

A smile brushed across H’aanit’s face. “It is decided.”

She led them the rest of the way to S’warkii. The little village was secluded and beautiful, peaceful more than anything.

Tressa went on with H’aanit to secure the group some rooms at the inn, while Alfyn went on his merry way chitchatting with the local folk. Cyrus did the same, finding interest in talking with the leader of the village. Eventually, Tressa found her way to the quaint marketplace.

The little group explored the town until the sunset. They ate dinner with H’aanit at the tavern, listening to her tale about her missing master, Zanta, and how his last known location was in Stonegard. 

She also told them more of the thief that had passed through. S’warkii had few visitors, and the stranger stuck out much like a sore thumb. No one recalled the fellow’s name, only that he was very polite, if not quiet. He kept to himself and even helped a few folks around the village, with menial tasks like sharing information that others were inquiring after. 

For one night he had stayed at the inn and then quietly took his departure. Only later that day did the blacksmith and the shopkeeper realize their items were missing, and H’aanit, freshly returned from her hunt of a fearsome beast called Ghisarma, had set out immediately to search for the thief. That was when she had run into the trio sitting before her now.

“Interesting,” Cyrus hummed. “That seems quite unusual.”

“Unusual?” Tressa echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can take it that we set out from Bolderfall not long after the thief did. An hour at most, I’d wager, based on that apple core we’d found,” the scholar explained. “But we detoured to Quarrycrest, where we stayed for the greater part of the week, before circling back to Bolderfall and staying the night.”

“Huh.” Alfyn rested his chin on his palm. “That’s one slow-movin’ thief.”

“It appeareth so,” H’aanit hummed. “Odd. Thieves art quick on their feet, are they not?”

Alfyn nodded. “They sure seem to be. Wonder what took him so long to get here.”

“Maybe he got lost in that forest?” Tressa suggested. “I’m sure I would have, if you hadn’t come and led us out of there, H’aanit.”

“Quite a theory, my dear.” Cyrus mused, percolating on the newfound information before him. If there was one thing he loved above all else, it was a good mystery, and this thief was incredibly mysterious. “Did this thief appear wounded when he arrived?”

“Wounded?” H’aanit repeated. “Hm. I dost not know. When thou retirest for the night, I may suggest asken the innkeeper.”

“Delightful. Thank you, truly.”

They conversed until the moon rose. H’aanit excused herself, and Linde followed her from the tavern. Soon after that, the other three made for their rooms at the inn, but Alfyn and Cyrus stayed behind to talk to the innkeeper.

“Excuse me, miss,” Alfyn said, catching the innkeeper’s attention. “I don’t mean t’ bother ya, but I was hopin’ you could tell me… The fella that came through here last night, do ya know if he had any injuries?”

The innkeeper raised her eyebrow. “The thief?” She questioned.

Alfyn paused. He didn’t want to ruin his name or the name of his travelers by asking after a thief, but he also wanted to know. Ultimately, he responded, “Yeah, him.”

“I suppose I shant want to know of why thou askest after him.”

Always clever on his feet and willing to help Alfyn out of a bind, Cyrus jumped in then, saying, “We are merely curious. We had a run-in with the thief prior to arriving here.”

The woman sighed. “He had little to say,” she told them, “and I didst not see his face. But he favored his side, as if he hadst sustained a wound.”

Cyrus and Alfyn looked to each other. “Thank ya,” Alfyn told her. “Hope we ain’t bothered ya none.”

The innkeeper waved dismissively, and the two men took their leave. On their way up to their room, Cyrus said, “It appears my hunch was correct. Our thief was wounded.”

“Golly. It must’ve been bad.” Alfyn rubbed his arm. Thief or no thief, or whatever his occupation, the stranger was still a person, likely still in need of real medical aid. The gentler side of Alfyn couldn’t help but worry over the wellbeing of a stranger. “I hope he’s alright.”

Unlocking the door to their room, Cyrus pushed it open and walked in. “What makes you say that it was a severe injury?” He inquired as he began removing his cloak.

Alfyn did similarly, setting his satchel on the bed before sitting to remove his boots. “Well, say he got to the Woodlands a week before we did, but didn’t make it all the way here. My guess is he got injured somethin’ fierce by somethin’ in the forest, bad enough to not let him travel for a few days, and when he got here it still wasn’t fully healed.”

“Perhaps the Ghirsarma H’aanit told us of?” Cyrus suggested. 

“Shucks, I sure hope not.” Alfyn shuddered at the thought of such a formidable creature. H’aanit seemed to be an incredibly skilled huntress, and even she had some difficulty taking it down. “That thing sounded mighty fierce.”

“Either way,” the other said as he pulled down the covers, “should we find him, you’ll be able to ask him yourself.”

Aflyn chuckled, doing the same. Before he blew out the candle, he said, “You’ve got a point there. Get some rest now, ya hear? We got a long day tomorrow.”

“And I was just about to say the same to you. Goodnight, Alfyn.”

“Night, Cyrus.”

It didn’t take long for the apothecary or the scholar to fall asleep after a day of traveling. Cyrus slept peacefully, and Alfyn dreamed of a boy with white hair and green eyes, and of bright red apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i only kind of know what i'm doing with this, but i at least know where the next couple chapters are headed. comments are appreciated as they are my only source of serotonin :)


	3. eyes green, quite the enchantment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter features near-death experiences and the emotions that come with them (fear, panic, dread, insecurity, etc)
> 
> also h'aanit says "you" sometimes in this chapter for fun linguistic reasons and i'm going give you her lore in the end notes

Alfyn had never been so cold, even with the extra fur H’aanit so graciously gave them. He pulled it tighter around himself, teeth clattering, as the wind pierced right through his trousers, biting at his thighs. The snow was shin-deep, soaking through his shoes. A brief glance around told him the others weren’t fairing much better.

Except for Linde, of course. The snow leopard blended right in with the frozen wasteland that lay before them, and if it weren’t for the happy spotted tail flicking back and forth, Alfyn was sure he would have lost sight of her.

Cyrus held a flame in his hand which Tressa and H’aanit huddled around. Alfyn remained at the back of the group, shielded a little from the wind, and Linde led them steadily onward.

“It’s _cold,”_ Tressa announced loudly. 

“It shouldn’t be much farther now,” Cyrus assured her.

“You said that an hour ago!” She protested. A fierce shudder prevented her from immediately speaking again, and she huddled closer to the meager flame. “Are you sure we’re not lost?”

H’aanit shook her head. “Linde knoweth the way,” she assured. “Aye, girl?”

The leopard mrrowed in agreement, turning to look at them only briefly before bounding off into the snow once more. 

“I sure hope we’re close,” Alfyn sighed, tightening his cloak around him. Flamesgrace would be a blessed reprieve from these harsh winds and biting cold. Practicing ice magic didn’t prepare him at all for what these bizzards would feel like. “At least we ain’t run into any—”

A roar cut off his thoughts.

It looks like he spoke too soon.

All four of the travelers tensed. It was hard to see through the blowing winds, but they heard the monsters all the same. “My friends!” Cyrus shouted. Alfyn could see him motioning for them all to stick close. “I believe we’ve caught the eye of Ice Lizardmen! I know for certain that they have difficulty against fire.”

Alfyn readied his axe. Tressa pulled out her spear, and H’aanit, her bow. “Linde!” H’aanit called. “To me!” 

“I ain’t got fire, but there ain’t much that’s good against an axe,” Alfyn grunted. His fingers were sluggish and hard to control with how cold they were, but he gripped the axe tightly anyway. These were his friends, and he was going to protect them.

“Linde!” H’aanit called again. The other three glanced nervously at each other when Linde’s form didn’t appear through the blizzard. Instead, a roar sounded again, much louder and much, _much closer._

Suddenly, flames were tearing through the air, launched from Cyrus’s hand with a mighty shout. Two Ice Lizardmen hissed in pain, reeling back. Their forms disappeared into the snow again.

The group pressed closer together. “Guys,” Tressa said nervously, “I don’t like this.”

“It seems the blizzard is getting worse,” Cyrus added unhelpfully.

H’aanit’s voice was strained. _“Linde!”_ She shouted. A silhouette slunk through the blinding snow, and H’aanit’s shoulders eased slightly. “Linde,” she breathed out. “Thou hadst me worried, friend, I—”

It wasn’t Linde.

The _creature,_ whatever it was, could have been Linde with its lithe figure. That was, until it reared up on its two hind legs, and suddenly it towered over all of them. The beast was covered in ice, with eyes that were a piercing yellow, and its teeth looked as sharp as blades. Its claws were as long as Alfyn’s hand, its paws as big as his head.

The group barely had time to react before its paw swung. It collided with H’aanit, sending her skidding across the snowy floor with a sickening crunch. 

“H’aanit!” Alfyn cried, swiveling his head to follow her body as it tumbled. She came to a stop several feet away, and Alfyn could hardly _see her_ through the raging storm. “H’aanit, are you alright?!”

H’aanit didn’t respond, or even move.

Alfyn’s grip tightened on his axe and his satchel. He was the _only_ healer among the group. He was the only one who could help H’aanit, but if a beast as ferocious as this one could take out such a strong fighter in one attack, he didn’t want to leave Cyrus and Tressa alone.

Tressa’s scream had him snapping his head back. The beast advanced on her, not three seconds after it had taken out H’aanit. Alfyn barely had the time to marvel at its speed before it was on top of Tressa. Cyrus’s shout overpowered the wind, and fierce flames attacked the creature’s back. The thing roared, distracted, and Tressa scrambled away, shaking from head to toe.

“Alfyn!” Cyrus called, hastily dodging an attack. “Go to H’aanit!”

Alfyn needed no more encouragement. He sprinted across the snow, dropping to his knees beside the huntress. Gently, he rolled her over to her back to inspect the damage. Claw marks were gouged across her chest, tattering her fur shawl, and blood dripped from her mouth. 

_Not good._ She wasn’t even shivering. If that blow hadn’t damaged any of her internal organs, ribs, or let alone her _brain,_ she was in serious danger of hypothermia. He needed to get her wounds tended and out of the snow as quickly as possible.

Alfyn tore open his satchel, snatching bandages out of it, but the things were barely in his hands when he heard Tressa’s scream again— _“Cyrus!”_

And Alfyn watched as the beast slammed both its paws down onto Cyrus. Its paws hit the ground with a heavy _thud,_ and when it backed away, Cyrus lay unmoving, crumpled into the snow.

The beast turned its beady, yellow gaze to Tressa. The girl scrambled backwards, horror dawning on her face. Alfyn shot to his feet, sprinting to defend his last standing teammates. “Tressa!” He shouted. _“Run!”_

He had to get to her. That was his job, he had to _protect them,_ he had to—

Her eyes locked onto his when the beast batted her away just as easily as it had done to H’aanit. Tressa immediately went limp, her body tumbling through the air. She landed in a tuft of snow without so much as a grunt. 

The beast looked to Alfyn.

Alfyn didn’t know what to do.

His three friends were scattered across the snow banks, all unconscious, possibly hurt worse, and Alfyn was alone against the beast that knocked them out in one hit. If he went down, there would be no one to heal them. They could all freeze to death out here, if another monster didn’t find them first.

He gripped the handle of his axe, looking back and forth from his friends to the monster. What should he do? Try to attack? Or try to heal? 

Alfyn grit his teeth and launched ice magic at the monster at a poor attempt to delay its attack, before dropping to his knees to look again at H’aanit. She was closest, and she was a huntress. The only reason she was taken out was because she was caught off guard. She was their ticket out of here. She _had to be._ So Alfyn had to heal her.

“Hold on, H’aanit,” Alfyn hissed, yanking out his tonics and bandages. His hands were shaking badly, although not from the cold. The blue liquid of the tonic splashed out, and he desperately poured some of it into H’aanit’s parted mouth. “I gotcha, I promise. Ol Alfyn ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to us, promise.”

A shadow loomed over him, and Alfyn barely had time to scoop H’aanit up into his arms before he dove out of the way of the monster. Claws raked down his shoulder, but Alfyn hardly felt the pain; it was more like a blooming heat against his back.

In another desperate measure, he shot out another ice attack and stumbled over to Cyrus, dropping H’aanit beside him. “Please,” he breathed, “please just be _alive…”_

Like he did with H’aanit, he fed Cyrus a tonic with shaking hands. It wouldn’t be enough to heal them completely, but if it could bring them back from the brink, it would be enough. It _had_ to be.

The beast roared behind him, and Alfyn stumbled to his feet. He abandoned his friends there and forced his freezing legs to move him away from them, as much as instinct screamed at him not to. He had to lure the beast away from them, and he also had to get to Tressa. 

Alfyn suddenly slammed his knee into a layer of ice covering the snow, and he cried out, tumbling. He recovered a moment later, but those few seconds were enough. The beast was on top of him in the blink of an eye.

The last thought that ran through his head was that he and his friends were all going to die here, and that it would be his fault. 

_I’m sorry._

The world went black.

* * *

Alfyn was _cold._

He was freezing, and nothing around him even seemed remotely warm, except for something around his ankle. His mind zeroed in on that, and he shuddered, instinctively pulling his leg closer to him in an attempt to bring the warmth closer.

Instead, whatever warm thing that had been on his ankle instead vanished, and his leg fell into the snow with a _thump_ . Alfyn groaned, shivering fiercely. Someone had been holding his leg up…? It didn’t matter. Dohter, he was _cold._

“Oh,” said a voice, “you’re alive.”

 _Yes, I’m alive,_ Alfyn wanted to spit back. _I’m alive and I’m the coldest being on the planet._

Instead, all he did was groan again, curling in on himself. He only rolled further into the snow, but the frigid cold he encountered was briefly offset by the pain. It was like fire, rolling up his shoulder, and he had never known that he could be so cold and so hot at the same time.

The sounds of other voices drifted to his ears, but they sounded underwater and far away. Like a brick, the realization hit Alfyn how tired he was. His eyes hadn’t opened to begin with, and now he was suddenly thankful for it. Even thinking about opening his eyes drained the last dredges of his energy from him. He didn’t realize that he’d stopped shivering.

He briefly thought of Cyrus, Tressa, and H’aanit, but… what could he do for them when he was like this? He couldn’t save them when he could move, let alone now. Maybe he could deal with it when he woke up…

A thud beside him stirred him from the deep corners of his consciousness. “Please!” Said a different voice, this one feminine and higher pitched. “Please, hang on for just a moment longer. Aelfric, please, shine your light on this weary traveler!”

Warmth flooded through his body, and Alfyn suddenly gasped, his eyes flying open. His consciousness returned to him in full. It almost felt like he had been doused in water, except it was warm and healing. He shot upright, immediately locking eyes with a woman with blonde hair and dressed in white.

“S-Sister?” Alfyn stuttered, his teeth immediately chattering. 

The woman—if he should even call her that, he wasn’t sure; she didn’t looked Alfyn’s age—smiled at him. “My name is Ophilia,” she told him. “I’m amazed you’re alive, but I’m sure you’re freezing.”

She turned her head, and Alfyn followed her gaze to two others standing nearby. The blizzard had calmed, at least, but it was still _so cold..._ “Um, Mister… Would you be so kind as to light a fire?”

The man she addressed was closest to Alfyn, dressed in purple and with hair as white as the snow. “Sure,” he drawled, and Alfyn recognized him as the one who spoke first. Had he been the one with a hand on his ankle? What for? “As soon as you give me something to burn, I’d be happy to.”

Ophilia’s face crumbled when she realized her mistake. “Ah… I’m sorry.” She turned to Alfyn, draping a fur shawl over his shoulders. It looked like the one H’aanit had given him. “We’ll get you warm soon.”

Alfyn thumbed at the fur, and then it clicked.

 _H’aanit_.

He gasped, shooting to his feet. Immediately, he wobbled, but Ophilia caught him. “Please, don’t push yourself,” she was saying, but Alfyn vigorously shook his head.

“My friends,” he said, trying to convey the urgency in his tone. “They’re still out there, I have to—”

“Sir, please,” Ophilia repeated. “I’ll—”

The second man, a tall, looming figure, spoke next with a voice as deep as the Cliftland canyons. “If they are also alive, you must go to them immediately, Ophilia,” he said. Ophilia glanced from Alfyn to the man, nodded, and ran off into the snowstorm. Alfyn watched the giant trail after her, following her footprints. When he craned his head to watch, he noticed a long trail of flattened snow ending at him.

Alfyn looked to the man in purple. “Were you dragging me?” He asked, confusion thick in his voice.

The man shrugged, tugging a scarf up to cover his cheeks and mouth, flushed red from the cold. “I thought you were dead,” he replied flatly. 

Alfyn looked past him, to another dip in the snow, deeper than anything else around them. A chill like no other wracked his body. That was meant to be his grave, he supposed.

He couldn’t think about it now, though. His hand moved to grab for his satchel as he turned, intending to go help Ophilia and take care of his friends—but his hand only met empty air. “Huh?” Looking down, Alfyn didn’t see his satchel. Had he lost it? Was it buried in the snow somewhere?

Something thumped against his back, and he turned, looking down in the snow to where his satchel now lay. He looked up to the white-haired man who had thrown it at him. “Uh…”

“A dead man doesn’t need his purse,” came the reply. Or explanation, rather.

Alfyn quickly scooped it up, pulling it safely back over his head. “Thank you, um…” He waited for a name.

None came.

Well, he didn’t have the time to wait. He turned and ran through the snow, following Ophilia’s footprints. They weren’t far off, and he could see H’aanit and Cyrus already sitting up. Ophilia was helping Tressa to her feet, and Alfyn breathed an audible sigh of relief.

It didn’t help the guilt eating at him, but it did ease his conscience, knowing that his friends were still somehow alive. No thanks to _him,_ but they were alive nonetheless. He didn’t want to think about what might’ve happened if Ophilia and the others didn’t come along in time.

“There’s a cave nearby,” the man was saying as he hauled Cyrus to his feet. Alfyn went to H’aanit’s side, grasping her hand and pulling her up. “We can find shelter in it and get you warm.”

“Thanketh you, stranger,” H’aanit replied. “I knowest not what may have happened to my friends had you not comen along whence you did.”

“I’m glad that we found you when we did,” Ophilia said. “My name is Ophilia. That is Sir Olbeic, and there’s another, although I don’t know his name…” She looked to where the purple-clad man had been, and Alfyn followed her gaze, but there was no one there.

“He’s gone?” Alfyn asked aloud, furrowing his brows.

Olberic grunted. “I don’t believe he was happy to be found,” he remarked. His eyes flicked to Alfyn when he said, “But I see he returned your satchel.”

Tressa yelped, then, and when everyone turned to look, she was aggressively patting her pockets. Apparently she couldn’t find whatever she was looking for when she cried, “That- that _thief!_ He stole my purse!”

Cyrus and H’aanit began to feel through their own pockets. The scholar let out a soft breath of, “Oh my…” and H’aanit tsked. It seemed both of them were also several leaves lighter than when they began.

“He did say he believed you to be dead,” Olberic said, ushering them towards the cave. Everyone followed, obediently, happy to get out of the cold. “Dead men need no leaves.”

Tressa waved her hand wildly. “Then how come Alfyn still has his satchel?!”

Alfyn’s grip tightened around his satchel. Why _did_ that man give it back? Maybe it was only because he saw that Alfyn was alive, but something told him otherwise.

Ophilia gently shushed Tressa, attempting to ease her anger as they were led inside the cave. The recovering group happily sank to the floor, except for Alfyn. As much as he trusted Ophilia’s healing power, he needed to make certain, with his own eyes, that his friends were alright—or going to be.

“Does anyone have fire magic?” Olberic asked, suddenly appearing (when had he left?) with a bundle of wood.

Cyrus pushed himself to his feet with a tired smile. “I do,” he responded. Olberic set down the pile, which was soggy with snow, and Cyrus summoned fire in both his hands to begin drying it and eventually light it.

Meanwhile, Alfyn crouched next to H’aanit and began looking at her shoulder. Ophilia’s magic had healed it for the most part, but just to be safe, Alfyn pulled out a salve to make sure it didn’t get infected. 

“Hast thou seen Linde?” H’aanit asked him.

“Linde?” Alfyn looked around, seeing a significant lack of snow leopard. “Uh… no.”

Ophilia glanced over. “Linde?” She asked. “Did we miss someone?”

“Linde art mine snow leopard,” H’aanit responded. “She vanished before we were attacked.”

“A snow leopard?” Something like recognition flitted across the cleric’s face, and she turned to the warrior accompanying her. As she was asking Olberic, hadn’t they seen a snow leopard earlier? something else caught their attention. H’aanit recognized it immediately, the familiar growl. 

Everyone turned to look at the forefront of the cave. Almost all of the group within immediately recognized the lithe, white shape padding through the snow. H’aanit, who released an almost inaudible breath of relief, exclaimed, “Linde! Thou hast returnest!”

Linde mrrowed in an affirmative, but she did not enter fully into the cave. Instead, she paused at the mouth of it, turning and growling outside. All the travelers tensed immediately, believing there to be danger. The crunch of feet on snow only tightened their shoulders more. What none of them were expecting, though, was the dark purple against the bright white coming into view.

His hair blended into the snow, but the shawl and scarf stuck out nicely. Alfyn, Ophelia, and Olberic were the only ones to recognize him.

“Oh, you’ve come back!” Ophelia cheered. “I was worried when you vanished.”

Olberic clicked his tongue but said nothing, and H’aanit hummed thoughtfully. Everyone except Ophilia seemed to recognize it all at once, only a split second after the first two. This man, whatever his name may be, certainly did not return out of choice.

Linde’s growl cemented that thought in their mind, especially when the man heeded the warning and stepped inside the cave.

Everything was silent for a long several seconds after Ophilia’s joyous exclamation. It was the stranger who broke the silence. “I thought you were all dead,” he said, tucking his hands deep into his shawl. From within he drew items Alfyn immediately recognized as Cyrus’s and Tressa’s purses. He tossed them to their rightful owners, who immediately scrabbled for them. “Y’know, dead men—”

“Need no leaves,” Alfyn echoed, mindlessly repeating what he’d heard Olberic say earlier, just as the other finished, “Don’t need purses.” 

The nameless man’s eyes immediately snapped to him. Instinctively, the apothecary wanted to cringe back— there was something so _cold_ in those eyes, colder than today’s biting winds —but something in him refrained. He held that gaze from nearly across the cave. Their stare was only broken by Tressa’s voice.

“You _stole_ our money!” She cried. “You’re a thief!”

The man looked slightly annoyed at best. He didn’t dignify her with a response, instead turning immediately to H’aanit and a motion to Linde. “Will you call this thing off now?” He asked, as if he were sitting through a four-hour Everhold play rather than being captured by a ferocious beast. “I’d like to be on my way.”

H’aanit, too, ignored Tressa’s shout of protest. She eyed the white-haired man curiously, and Alfyn just so happened to glance at her when she glanced to him. Rather, she wasn’t looking at Alfyn; it seemed more like she was looking at the cloak on his shoulders. Reflexively, Alfyn pulled the fur tighter around himself and watched H’aanit’s gaze return to the stranger.

“I assume that you wishest not to accompany us,” she said. She received a gruff nod in return, so she continued, “I shall releasen thee this once, for my companions and I art tired. _However—”_ The barest of relaxation immediately evaporated from the stranger’s shoulders. “If I seest you again, sir, you shan’t be leaving alone again.”

Everyone else glanced curiously between H’aanit and the stranger. Even Tressa had gone quiet. Something was going unsaid between those two, an unspoken code no one knew the key to. 

The supposed-thief huffed at last. “Like I said, I’ll be on my way.” 

H’aanit motioned for Linde to come to her side, and as soon as the leopard was gone from the man’s side, he turned to once again exit the cave. Seeing him go, something in Alfyn cried out to stop him, to talk to him at least once. 

Alfyn hastily scrambled to his feet and gave chase. The cloak began to slip from his shoulders, but he snatched it up just in time. Was he ever grateful for it, too, as soon as he left the safety of the cave and was blasted by a cold wind. 

“Excuse me!” He shouted. The volume was unneeded, considering the man was only a handful of steps away, but the sudden desperation stole his control of his voice. “Excuse me.”

The stranger paused. He turned only enough to look over his shoulder, and Alfyn locked eyes with him again once more. Immediately he wondered if the other was the Medusa of legend, because his gaze turned the apothecary to stone.

“Excuse me,” Alfyn echoed once more, quieter than ever. From this close, he could see every detail of the man’s face that wasn’t covered by the scarf pulled up over his nose. His eyes were a fierce green, patterned with specks of brown. Something about them reminded Alfyn of home. “What’s your name?”

The stranger didn’t look away from Alfyn, either. It was almost like he was scanning him, searching his face for… _something._ What it was, Alfyn couldn’t say.

It seemed as if they were frozen there together for hours, when it was really no more than a handful of seconds. The stranger cleared his throat, apparently having concluded his search, and said, “Therion.”

“Therion.” The name came out like a sigh on Alfyn’s lips. The formation was strange and new on his tongue, but something about it filled him with nostalgia. Perhaps it was because he was still staring into those green eyes. He felt quite a lot like when he had burrs stuck to the inside of his shirt as a child, like something was there, something he should know, but he hadn’t yet figured out what it was. “I’m Alfyn.”

Therion stiffened immediately, but Alfyn did too as another gush of wind blew through their clothes. The man said nothing more, but he seemed to be searching Alfyn’s face once more. Alfyn didn’t mind; getting those in Therion’s eyes reminded him too much of running through the fields in Clearbrook with Zef, Nina, and for a short time, Ollie.

Just as abruptly, Therion turned and headed off into the day. Alfyn, too, returned to the cave, but at the mouth of it he felt compelled to look behind him once more. Therion was gone from his sight. Distinctly, it felt like he’d just lost something, although he couldn’t say what.

Later, H’aanit told him that Therion had been the same thief she had been searching for in S’warkii. Tressa immediately roared that she’d _called it,_ and _why did you let him go, then, H’aanit? He’s a no good thief!_ And Cyrus remarked how lucky they were that they had their purses return, whereas Olberic grumbled that they’re lucky Therion hadn’t stolen _all_ of their purses. Alfyn, meanwhile, couldn’t help but remember Therion’s eyes— so familiar in an unfamiliar way —and how they had looked at him.

Much later, Alfyn wondered if he reminded Therion of home, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H'AANIT LORE - so i chose to have her say "you" in a few instances because of old english. if you've studied another language, you probably have heard of formal/informal you's, and english used to have that. our "you" was actually formal (and plural), and thee/thou/thy was the informal, so you would use thee/thou/thy (called T-forms) to refer to close friends and family, and you (the V-form) to refer to a stranger, person of authority, or a crowd. since h'aanit didn't know ophelia, olberic, or therion, i had her use the formal you. but, seeing as i assume that she becomes familiar/trusting with others quite quickly because of what i think her culture is like, she'd usually switch quite quickly to the T-form. (i'm a linguistic minor it's my duty to ramble about these things)
> 
> thank you all for the sweet comments!! they really help motivate me to get the next chapter out. college just has me super busy! so thank you for your patience, too. i won't forget this fic!! <3


	4. the dawn

It turned out that Ophilia and Olberic had just been coming from Flamesgrace. The former was even a native resident of the place, and she was kind enough to lead them there, even though she and Olberic left the town not even a day prior.

In Flamesgrace, the lot of them— Alfyn, H’aanit, Cyrus, Tressa —all were able to rest up and recover fully from that frightening monster. Alfyn tended to their wounds, and Ophilia tended to his, while Olberic remained a towering but secure presence. 

Alfyn grew to like Ophilia and Olberic, and it seemed the others did, too. They clicked like another set of puzzle pieces, and even in the short time they knew each other, Olberic and Ophilia already became fast friends. Tressa was the first to invite them to join on their journey, and Alfyn was quick to second it. However, it seemed Ophilia was bound for Saintsbridge, and Olberic’s next destination was Wellspring. While Olberic didn’t seem to be in a great rush to get to Wellspring— “Erhardt has been there for years; I doubt he’s leaving anytime soon” —Ophilia apologetically informed them that she couldn’t make such a large detour.

“We’ll probably rest in Saintsbridge for a while,” she said. “If you’re in the area, we can meet up again.”

“That sounds delightful,” Cyrus replied, “but Sir Olberic said he had business in Wellspring, yes? It would save all of us some time to meet you both there.”

Ophilia paused to consider before nodding along. She looked to Olberic; the hulking man, leaning against the doorframe of their inn room, also nodded. “It would make the most sense,” he agreed. “It’s middle ground.”

“It’s a plan, then!” Alfyn grinned.

Tressa squirmed in delight, excited by the talk of travel and exploring. “Oooh, I’ve never been that far south! I wonder what kind of things they sell there…”

“Wilt thou travel with us to leave Flamesgrace?” H’aanit questioned. She sat on the floor, reclining against the bedpost. Linde was stretched out at her side, sleeping and being pet softly by her owner. “The day hast grown late, now. It mayest be best to rest here tonight and embark with us tomorrow morn.”

Ophilia sighed gently and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It would probably be best,” she agreed, although reluctance lingered in her voice. “It’s safer to travel in larger groups outside the city, anyway.”

“When we get to the base of the mountain,” Olberic said, “we’ll split. Until then, we shall travel together.”

And that they did. After resting at the inn for the night, the six of them set out the next morning after a hearty breakfast. Immediately, the difference in the group was notable. Not only were they stronger— any monsters they encountered were dealt with swiftly and quickly —but the chatter amongst them was even livelier. Two new travelers meant two new stories to exchange, new jokes to be made, new things to be learned. 

Cyrus was in a deep conversation with Olberic. About what, exactly, Alfyn wasn’t sure. A place called Hornburg was mentioned frequently, but seeing as Olberic was participating in the conversation as much as Cyrus was, it didn’t look like the man needed rescuing from one of the scholar’s rambling… yet.

Tressa, H’aanit, and Ophilia were all also in a discussion. It began with Ophilia’s comment on Linde and steadily derailed once Tressa joined in. Now, the merchant and the cleric were talking excitedly about life on the road and new adventures. H’aanit took the opportunity to slip away, falling to the back of the group where Alfyn walked.

“Art thou well?” The huntress asked him.

The question took Alfyn by surprise. He blinked, and his hands found the strap of his satchel to readjust. “Am I—?” 

H’aanit looked at him quizzically. “Thou hast been awfully quiet,” she explained. “I thought thou wouldst be in the midst of the conversations. Instead, thou art here—” She motioned to where they trailed behind the other travelers. “—talking to no one.”

Alfyn opened his mouth to respond and found his words failing him. His jaw shut with a click.

His companion seemed unimpressed. H’aanit pinned him with a look that meant business. “I ask thee again: Art thou well?”

“Shucks,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his satchel’s strap again. “Nothin’s wrong, honest. I’ve just been thinkin’.”

H’aanit didn’t reply, and when Alfyn lifted his eyes to meet hers, he saw she was still staring at him. She said nothing, only raised one eyebrow. Her silence flustered him; he started to pick at a loose thread on the satchel. “About that thief, from yesterday,” he added. 

“Ah, the thief.” H’aanit nodded. “Why doest he command your mind so?”

That was the question Alfyn had been trying to answer since the purple shawl had disappeared into the horizon. “I dunno.” With a sigh, the apothecary shook his head, as if trying to dispel his disorganized thoughts. “There was somethin’ about him. Just reminded me of home, I guess.”

His answer didn’t seem to clarify anything for H’aanit, judging by the way her eyebrows scrunched on her forehead. “Is thy home oft stolen from?” She asked.

Alfyn sputtered. “N-no, gosh, nothin’ like that!” He exclaimed, shaking his head. 

The huntress laughed softly, and Linde moved in between the two of them with a low mrrow. H’aanit reached to pet her, asking, “Then what, if not thievery?”

“Oh, gosh, well…” Alfyn lifted his gaze to her. “I’ve told ya about Ollie, yeah?”

H’aanit nodded. By now, all the travelers knew the tale of the boy who’d supposedly fallen from the Cliftland heights, and Alfyn’s quest to find him again. “Well, Ollie had these green eyes,” the apothecary continued. “Or, um, eye, I guess. I remember, I thought to call ‘im Oliver ‘cause his eyes looked just like these olives someone grew. And, well, Therion’s eyes were the same kinda green.”

“Ah.” She considered Alfyn for a long moment before speaking again. “Thou carest much for this Ollie.”

This was more familiar territory, and Alfyn was quick to jump to it. “Shucks, of course I do, H’an!” He answered— and there, she saw, was the brightness returning to his eyes. It had faded with the coldness of the blizzard and the dangers they faced within it. It was good to see Alfyn returning to himself.

The apothecary rambled to her about Ollie, Zeph, and Nina for quite some time, but Cyrus called him up to his discussion with Olberic, asking something about an herb that they couldn’t remember the name of, and Alfyn politely excused himself before bounding up to the new conversation. For a short time, H’aanit simply lingered at the back with Linde, pleased that their group morale had risen completely again. But she, too, was soon called into conversation, and obediently quickened her pace to match that of the other travelers’.

Descending the mountain came quickly after that. Too soon they found themselves at the base, where they would separate from Olberic and Ophilia for quite some time.

Ophilia hugged them all, and Olberic shook their hands— or tried to. He successfully managed with H’aanit and Cyrus, but Alfyn pulled him in for a hug, and even that didn’t prepare the giant of a man for Tressa jumping to wrap her arms around his neck for a hug of her own. 

“Please take care,” Cyrus said, “and thank you again for helping us.”

“You as well,” Ophilia replied, with the gentlest smile. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”

Tressa let out an audible groan, mumbling something about how  _ trouble _ was synonymous with  _ fun, _ and H’aanit chuckled quietly. Alfyn promised he’d take care of them no matter what they got themselves into. H’aanit told them both to stop in S’warkii and say they knew her for a good meal at the tavern and a night at the inn, and they promised they would. Then, with one final goodbye, and a promise to meet again in Wellspring, they broke off on their separate paths— Tressa, Cyrus, H’aanit, and Alfyn heading east to Noblecourt, and Ophilia and Olberic going west, bound for Saintsbridge. 

The journey to Noblecourt was, thankfully, not nearly as exciting as their trip to Flamesgrace. They still encountered monsters, but all of them had grown stronger and more familiar with each other’s capabilities. The beasts on Noblecourt’s road bothered them little, when they operated like a well-oiled machine. It was soon enough that they arrived at the sprightly town.

None of them had any particular business in Noblecourt, so they were free to rest at the inn and mill about the town as they pleased. Their true destination was across the sea. A small harbor off Noblecourt would sail them to Grandport. From there, they would travel on foot to Goldshore, where Alfyn had heard word of a terrible disease and was eager to lend a helping hand. Then they would continue southeast, to Stoneguard, where both Cyrus and H’aanit had business. Finally, a small pass through the mountains into the desert would lead them to Wellspring, where they would meet up with Olberic and Ophilia.

With their plan set, when they set foot in Noblecourt they set it into motion. Tressa would bargain for passage on the next ship to Grandport, and Cyrus would accompany her. Apparently, Noblecourt used to be the home of a famous House he had read of, and he was eager to question the locals about it. 

Meanwhile, H’aanit opted to secure their rooms at the inn. She didn’t want to frighten the locals with Linde, and she was ready to rest after their long journey.

That left Alfyn free to do as he pleased. The tavern was calling his name, but the sun was still high in the sky and he would like to stock up on some supplies while he was here— his noxroot was running low again, and he could never have too many healing grapes. So, with his satchel slung over his shoulder, he milled about the town.

Stocking up on supplies, as it were, never went as quickly as Alfyn thought it would. He probably should have learned by now. Everyone was just so fun to talk to! He loved having conversations with the shop owners, or the fellow customers, or even the friendly looking locals. Getting to know everyone was his favorite part about meeting new people, and he wasn’t going to skip over that just to get a couple more drinks in.

By the time the sun was sinking towards the horizon, Alfyn had met about two dozen people and treated four or five of them. They weren’t serious cases— some stiff joints, a cold, a scraped knee —but by day’s end, he was well ready to unwind. He’d even made a few leaves today. Not that he had had any intentions to be paid, but it was hard to say no when his patients were insisting like they had. 

So he made his way through the cobblestone streets to the tavern. The lamplight was on over the front of the door, and warm yellow lights poured through the windows. He let himself in. Opening the door, he was met with an inviting wave of noise and warmth. It hadn’t been cold, being out and about today, but now that the sun was sinking, the temperature was falling with it. The tavern’s warmth was welcoming.

Alfyn settled himself at an unoccupied table and cheerily greeted the woman who came up to ask his order. “Shucks,” he said, “I dunno, I’ve never been here before. A mug o’ ale and whatever ya recommend to eat would be great.” 

Dinner was a hot plate of buttered potatoes, grilled pork, and a pile of sliced carrots, green beans, and corn. His stomach rumbled just smelling it. After thanking the waitress, he happily dug in. 

Eating alone, Alfyn had plenty of time to think. The chatter and clack of dishes faded to the background as he looked out the window to Noblecourt’s nightlife. He found himself wondering how Zeph was fairing, as the sole apothecary of Clearbrook, and guessing at how tall Nina might be by now. He hoped they were doing well. Ophilia and Olberic, too, he thought about. They’d probably made it to Bolderfall by now.

Distantly, he hoped they wouldn’t lose any apples to sticky fingers in any of the Bolderfall passes, but then he remembered that Therion, the apple thief, had been near Flamesgrace with all of them. Aflyn wondered where Therion went, after that. They hadn’t seen him in Flamesgrace, but would it make sense for him to double back to S’warkii, where he’d just come from?

If he’d gone not north and not west, that left only east, the same direction Alfyn and the rest had traveled. But Alfyn remembered each passing face they met on the road, and none of them had white hair or purple shawls. Had Therion come all the way to Noblecourt? Was he here, hiding amongst the shadows, where Alfyn didn’t think to look? All the people Alfyn talked to were never hiding, always in the sunlight.

He remembered Therion’s wound, the one that had so severely delayed him from S’warkii to Flamesgrace, and decided he should start paying more attention to the alleyways.

Of course, Therion might not’ve reached Noblecourt at all. He could’ve instead gone south, to Atlasdam. The scholars and nobles that lived there would have a pretty pocket to pick. And Rippletide had its fair share of merchants to plunder. And yet, of the cities, Alfyn would think Noblecourt was the most alluring for a thief, save for the bigger cities like Grandport or Saintsbridge. Nobles were always wealthy, weren’t they?

The waitress came again, this time to take away his place and replace it with another mug of ale. “‘Scuse me,” he said, and when she paused, he continued, “Y’all haven’t had any, er, thieves ‘round here lately, have you?”

“Thieves?” She echoed. With a hum, she rested her large tray on her hip as she thought. “There have been rumors of something that happened with that old schtick Orlick. I hear he’s made up with his friend, Mr. Barham, but that’s all I know. Orlick’s pretty tight-lipped.”

Alfyn dipped his head in a nod. He didn’t want to take up anymore of her time, with a tavern to tend to. So he thanked her, and she went on her way. Alfyn was just starting to wonder who this Orlick fellow was when the tavern door opened, and in walked Cyrus, Tressa, and H’aanit.

Tressa spotted him instantly, but he waved them over anyway. All turned and started to head for the table, but someone he didn’t recognize emerged from the door, following H’aanit and Linde. She had dark hair and bright, glittery clothes.

“Alfyn!” Cyrus greeted, taking a seat beside him. “I do hope you’ve had a good day in this fine town.”

“As good as any, Professor,” Alfyn replied. H’aanit sat across from him, and Linde curled at her feet. If any of the townspeople were unnerved by the snow leopard, no one said anything. Tressa sat across from Cyrus, and the stranger took a seat in between Tressa and Cyrus.

“Please, allow me to introduce the lovely Primrose,” Cyrus said. “This is the last member of our group, for now, at least.”

“Hiya there.” Alfyn reached across the table to offer his hand. Primrose, for a moment, only eyed him strangely, but the moment passed in a heartbeat, and she shook his hand. It was rougher than he expected; calluses on her palm, when he expected none. “Nice to meetcha. I’m Alfyn Greengrass, an apothecary.”

“Primrose,” she replied. Her voice was sultry, and her smile was kind, but didn’t seem to reach her eyes. Alfyn withdrew his hand, and she said, “It’s good to meet you, too.”

“Cyrus and I met her!” Tressa chimed in excitedly. “After we got back from the harbor, we walked around town, and he wanted to look at some dumb house—”

“Tressa, dearest.” Cyrus looked appalled. “A dumb house? Is that truly what you thought of it? House Azelhart was a grand House of its time!”

Tressa steamrolled on as if the professor hadn’t spoken at all. H’aanit and Alfyn exchanged subtle glances and smiles, while the young merchant told them how she and Cyrus had met Primrose outside the Azelhart manor. Apparently, she’d overhead Cyrus lecture on the history of the House and was interested to hear more.

“Anyway,” Tressa continued, “it turns out Primrose needs to go to Everhold! And that’s just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Wellspring, you know, so she decided to come with us!”

H’aanit furrowed her eyebrows. “A hop, skip, and a jump soundeth quite far.”

“Naw.” Alfyn shook his head. “Not any further than a tarry ‘cross the pond.”

Tressa joined H’aanit in apparent confusion, and Cyrus took the opportunity to launch into a linguistic lecture of idioms. The conversation paused only for the other four to order their dinners, and for Alfyn to request another mug of ale. But when the conversation stirred up again, it landed on a different track.

“Oh, and you won’t believe what Primrose told us!” Tressa exclaimed. Cyrus was nodding along already, and H’aanit’s and Alfyn’s attention was captured. “Turns out, that thief that we ran into back in Flamesgrace? He was here!”

_ “Here?” _ Alfyn echoed, his eyes wide. Gosh, he had been guessing that Therion might have come here, but to have gotten it right… “Why would he be here? He ain’t still here, is he?”

Primrose softly cleared her throat, and anything Tressa or Cyrus might have said was instantly put on hold. “I don’t believe so,” she said. “There’s a noble that lives by himself on the northwest side of town, named Orlick. He was the owner of a rather rare gem for quite some time, but the jewel was… lifted from him a couple days ago.”

“See!” Tressa turned to H’aanit, now. “Why’d you let him go, H’aanit? He’s a no good thief. He  _ stole _ from a noble!”

“Ah, but my dear,” Cyrus interrupted, “one must always ask  _ why.  _ Noblecourt is filled with well-off individuals. Why Orlick? And, if Primrose is entirely correct that only that gem was taken, what value does that one gem hold?”

Tressa scowled fiercely at the professor. “Does it  _ matter?”  _ She rebutted, unimpressed. “Stealing is wrong, and he stole!”

“Shucks.” Alfyn shook his head, setting his tankard on the table with a gentle  _ clunk.  _ He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the grain. “I can’t believe we missed ‘im. We were travelin’ the same way.”

“Mayhaps he hath taken the ship to Grandport?” H’aanit suggested.

Primrose shook her head. “There hasn’t been a ship sailing from the harbor in the days since Orlick’s jewel was stolen,” she said. “But, if you would humor me…”

“‘Course,” Alfyn said, and the others agreed, silently or verbally.

Primrose continued, “It appears you know this thief?” 

“We sure do,” Alfyn said, just as Tressa shouted, “No!” while Cyrus remarked that it was complicated. Primrose looked amused, but she motioned for Alfyn to continue. Tressa grumbled to herself but settled back in her seat nonetheless.

And so Alfyn explained their odd history with the thief, first in Bolderfall, then in S’warkii, and outside Flamesgrace, and now in Noblecourt. Primrose took it all in silently, and when Alfyn finished, she nodded.

“I have another question, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said. Alfyn nodded, so she went ahead. “At Flamesgrace, after you were attacked by that monster, you said he’d been taking you to a grave?”

The memory was still distasteful at best. Alfyn fought a grimace as he answered, “Yeah, somethin’ dug outta the snow.”

“How big would you say this grave was?”

All the travelers were puzzled by her question. “Shucks, uh, I didn’t look at it too well,” Alfyn said, “but it was probably my size.”

Primrose nodded and turned her attention to the others. “And he stole from you all as well?” And she glanced to Alfyn again. “But he only willingly returned your satchel to you.”

Alfyn couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something. Prim looked like she was putting puzzle pieces together when he hadn’t even opened the box. “...Yeah, that’s about right,” he concluded. “Is there somethin’ you’re gettin’ at?”

The dancer hummed and shook her head. “No.” Then she stood, pushing in her chair. “I think I’ll retire for the night.”

“I shall go with thee,” H’aanit spoke up. She, too, stood from the table. The two bid them goodnight and took their leave from the tavern.

After the door shut behind them, Tressa looked at Cyrus and Alfyn. “Am I missing something?” She asked. “What was all that about?” 

“A good question indeed, Tressa.” Cyrus, for once, didn’t seem to have a theory at ready disposal. “The minds of women have always eluded me, I’m afraid. Alfyn, do you know?”

Alfyn shook his head. “Shucks, I ain’t got no idea.”

“Then there is no need to dwell on it for tonight. Come now, we’ll finish our suppers, and then I believe we should all turn in, too.”

In bed that night, Alfyn found that he couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Primrose had seemed so certain of the questions she asked, as if she knew they would lead her to a particular answer… What was it he was missing? He had the same information as her— more, even, because he lived through it. So what could her fresh eyes see that his couldn’t?

The thought followed him into sleep. 

When he awoke the next morning, it was to the last thoughts of a slipping dream. Green, he thought, like the stems of flowers he would leave on his mother’s grave. But then Cyrus was speaking to him, saying a cheerful good morning, and if he had dreamed at all, Alfyn completely forgot.

Today they set sail for Grandport. The journey would take three days, and they were departing early. Alfyn would have much rather slept in, if he could have. But it seemed his reluctance to leave bed wasn’t shared by any member of their group. Tressa was always an early bird, followed closely by H’aanit. Cyrus varied wildly, depending on if he was awake late into the night in a book or not. Primrose, it seemed, was just as well rested. Well, a good breakfast should wake him up.

Half an hour and a good breakfast later, the five of them shuffled onto a ship set for Grandport. Several other travelers joined them, and while Alfyn was eager to get to know them later, for now he found himself at the helm. The sun had yet to rise, but in the eastern sky he could see the first rays of dawn peeking up over the waters.

When the first true glimpse of the sun inched above the horizon, they set sail. Dawn was breaking as they touched the open waters of the sea.

It had been a while since Alfyn found the time to watch a sunrise, so he was more than happy to remain here until it was risen. To his surprise, however, Primrose stepped up beside him. “Mind if I join you?” She asked.

“Don’t mind at all,” Alfyn replied. So she joined him, and for another several minutes, they watched the sky in silence, save for the calls of the sailors and seagulls and the lapping of the waves.

Primrose was the first to break the quiet. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night. If I did, I apologize.”

“Last night?” Alfyn tore his eyes away from the sky to glance at her. “Askin’ about Therion? Naw, it didn’t bother me. I just didn’t get it, is all.”

“Therion?” 

“The thief.”

“Ah. I was wondering if he gave you anything else.” She turned her eyes back to the sea, but Alfyn found himself turning her words over in his head.

“Gave me anythin’?” He asked. “I’m sorry, Prim, I don’t get what you mean.”

Primrose pushed herself off the railing she leaned on to face Alfyn fully. “I apologize. I think it’s best I explain fully.”

Mimicking her, Alfyn turned as well, although he remained leaning on the side of the ship. “Shucks, I would sure appreciate it.”

“His— Therion’s actions didn’t quite make sense to me,” she explained, “at Flamesgrace more than any. He stole from you all, meaning that he believed you all dead. And yet, he dug a grave solely for you… in the snow, no less, when it would have been much easier to continue on his way. And then, when you awoke, he returned your satchel to you. But if Linde hadn’t found him again, he would have kept the others’ leaves.”

Alfyn nodded slowly. “Yeah…” He agreed hesitantly. It didn’t really make a lot of sense, now that he was thinking about it like this. At the time, he’d been far too grateful to be alive. 

But Primrose wasn’t finished. “And he gave you his name,” she added.

“I asked for it,” Alfyn told her. 

She shook her head, and for a moment, looked almost wistfully out to the shores of Noblecourt. “When you’re in a dark business, like thievery… names are precious. They’re not something to be given out so freely.”

Alfyn frowned. “I’m still not following.”

She looked at him again. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, shadowed even more by the sun rising behind her. “And don’t know anyone named Therion?”

“Besides him? No.” Alyn was good at remembering names, and people, and he knew he’d never met anyone named Therion until Flamesgrace. “Why do you ask?”

“Because, Alfyn,” Primrose said, “you might not know Therion, but I think Therion knows you.”

All at once, Alfyn remembered pink-tainted river water, and childhood, a promise of family, home, and a boy’s eye colored much like an olive.

_ Ollie…? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank yall for waiting patiently for this next chapter! things have been wild on my side of the screen, and i'm sorry it took me so long to update. i was seriously stumped over some plotholes that i now have figured out, though, so the next chapters should be coming easier! i honestly wrote most of this in one sitting, too, so i'm sorry if there are any typos. but i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> ps. i dont know what "a tarry across the pond" means if it means anything. i made it up bc it sounds like something alfyn would say.  
> pps. therion does just have the one visible eye, the other one hidden by his hair, but i end up writing "eyes" a lot because im very forgetful.
> 
> next chapter: grandport, goldshore, and more.


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